


Crockery, Woks and Bells

by Dionys (orphan_account)



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Bisexuality, Childhood Friends, F/F, Fantasy come to life, Favourite conversation, Favourite memory, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Memory, No Smut, One-Shot, Pansexual Character, Running Away, Slice of Life, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 08:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7215643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dionys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After twelve years, she’s finally mine. Plus, that same night, we have sex with my boyfriend, discuss running away together and then actually do. One shot/slice of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crockery, Woks and Bells

'Pansexual?'

'Yep.'

'What is that, like being attracted to crockery? Pots and woks and stuff?'

'Yes. Yes, it's being attracted to _woks_.'

She laughed and the sound, yet again, reminded me of bells.

'Did med school fry your brain?' I asked.

She pinched my cheek. 'Are you going to tell me what it is or not?'

'It's where you find absolutely everything sexually appealing. As long as it involves two attractive human beings.' I paused and chuckled. 'That was narrow-minded of me. I meant two or _more_ human beings, obviously.'

'So...'

'So men and women, men and men, women and women.'

To drive home that last point, I bent low to kiss and bite her neck. She breathed in and her body rose beneath me.

'Pretty much everything except bestiality and pedophilia. And even with pedophilia -'

'Oh, God.'

'Hey, I'm just saying we're all massive liars if we deny that there are really, really, uncomfortably attractive fifteen year olds out there. Some of my tenth grade students are, like, six foot three. They have to duck through the doorway! Nothing hotter than a boy who has to duck through a doorway.'

'Such a pedo. You need to be arrested.'

'You just had sex with that pedo.'

'Don't remind me.'

But Scar was pleased. I could tell. Sandy hair splayed, cheeks still slightly flushed. I still couldn't believe it was Scarlet in my bed. Scarlet's breasts, brown-pink nipples and all, Scarlet's drop-dead fucking gorgeous legs that went for miles even though she was shorter than me (a beguiling, utterly irresistible combination that had plagued me since high school).

Though the desire had oscillated between foreground and background, a part of me had consistently wanted her for twelve years.

And finally, after one drunken night in my apartment while Chris was working a late shift, which began like so many other drunken late nights in my apartment, she was mine. I did everything I'd always wanted to do to her.

And, in a way that inflated my already dangerously large ego, she enjoyed it so much she worried that she was gay. I asked how she felt about Zac Efron dancing shirtless on stage in a cape in _Neighbours 2_. She laughed her laughter like bells and said it had most definitely turned her on. So she wondered if she was bisexual.

I reached over her and grabbed my phone off my nightstand to show her a picture of Doumeki arched and hovering over Yashiro, their hair capturing the light in enthralling little glints, both their gazes locked intently on the observer, the guilty voyeur. Challenging them. _Yeah, we fuck. What of it?_

She said it was hot, as far as two-dimensional men could be hot. (I sighed. My love of manga was the one thing we could never share.)

I diagnosed her as a pansexual. Bisexual, in my opinion, didn't quite cover the strange sensation of getting off on men doing horrible things to men.

(At this she looked at me uncertainly. 'How horrible are we talking?' I hesitated for only a moment. 'Anything from light bondage to hardcore S&M to rape.' She looked at me for a second longer and I was worried I'd gone too far. Then she shook her head and smiled. 'From anyone else that would have been seriously messed up. From you, I almost feel boring by comparison.' Pause. 'I love you,' I said. She looked at me again. The sentiment had been shared, aloud, countless times over the past twelve years. But now, suddenly, I couldn't be sure if- 'I love you too,' she said.)

And then we were talking about dominant and submissive. How I want to feel like a prisoner when I'm with men, Chris included, but how I need to take control with women.

'How many girls have you been with again?'

She suddenly sounded self-conscious. It made me want to kiss her until her hands were in my hair. So I did.

'Pretty sure I've told you,' I said after pulling away. 'Before you there were two. And one of them was a full-time lesbian. I was way out of my depth.'

She reflected and sighed quietly.

'You're leagues and leagues hotter than they were,' I said, kicking myself a little. 'Plus you're better in the sack.'

'As if. I barely did anything.'

'Want me to teach you a few more tricks? With my bountiful treasury of past experiences, tallying exactly two?'

She laughed. But suddenly she lifted up and slid under the sheets. I felt a white flare of excitement.

And, okay, so trying to coach someone while they're doing _that_  turned out to be a lot less effective in practice than I thought. Nothing erodes one's teaching skills like cunnilingus. Luckily she had a knack for it anyway and made do with my very occasional and very distracted pointers. More importantly, she seemed to love it.

After a while, starting to lose patience with being passive, I sat up and pushed her back onto the bed, not quite as gently as I intended. Her eyes flashed and she bit her lip. I was a goner.

Truth be told, I was in love. From way back when.

After Round II, we let Duke into the room. Aside from me and Chris, Scar was his favourite person so he was beside himself to see the two of us in one place. He draped his large, ungainly body and jowls over both pairs of legs under the blanket.

And then we talked about Chris. I didn't feel nearly as guilty as I should have.

'I should go before he gets back,' she said. 'I should at least get dressed.'

Then a thought occurred to me. An impossible, amazing thought. Perhaps it was the wine, or her first foray into lesbian sex, or the fact that she wanted to test the waters of bisexuality/pansexuality, but to my amazement, she was on board.

* * *

While we waited for Chris, I confessed a small fraction of my decade-long desire for her. Not the whole thing yet, for fear of scaring her off. I told her about my fantasy.

We’re road tripping somewhere. It’s night time on a largely deserted stretch of road somewhere between Arizona and Idaho. (She had no idea where those states actually were, and I admitted I didn't really know either and had picked them at random because American place names always sounded a lot more poetic than Australian ones.) There’s only one pair of headlights every half hour or so. They start small in the distance and hover for a good long while and then zip by unceremoniously. The lead up is always grander than the main act.

I turn to her. Scar sits low on the passenger seat, her long white legs folded up and her bare feet on the dashboard. Her knees are in line with her eyes. The wind near her open window is painted blond, sometimes catching brightly in another car’s headlights. She’s smoking a cigarette and staring at me while she drags. I love the look I’ve designed on her face. I wonder if anyone has ever actually looked at me that way.

Each of the moments I envisioned are really vivid but really brief, I tried to explain to her. Like shots in an album.

'Sounds really nice,' she sighed, in that way of hers.

I always talked too much and said very little. She always said very little and spoke volumes. It had always been like that. She had always been the quiet doctor to my preachy, overzealous lawyer.

Then we heard the front door open and close. Duke bolted off the bed, his tail like a windscreen wiper. Chris' low, deep voice rumbled through the apartment.

'If I have to deal with another fucking dero on site again I'm fucking resigning.'

Scar looked nervous but I was smiling.

'We're in here!' I said. Both of us naked to our waists, lying under the blankets.

Chris came in, took in the scene and his jaw hit the floor.

That look of bafflement managed to stay with him somehow, in little hints, sometimes in his eyes, other times his mouth, as the three of us had what was to be the best sex of our lives. So far, anyway.

* * *

I broke up with Chris a week later. He took it well. He confessed he had his own doubts as to whether a blue collar, salt-of-the-earth, rough and tumble, lovable, straight-up amazing country boy Aussie like him could really spend the rest of his life with an immigrant, and a lawyer at that.

'I prefer someone with a soul,' he said, his face straight.

'I'm not a lawyer anymore, you racist prick,' I said again, putting on the voice. We were both aware it was the last time he would tease me about it. The last time I would feign annoyance. It was the most amicable breakup of my life. I couldn't have scripted it better.

'I'll miss Duke tons more than you, anyway,' he said, eyes averted and holding Duke's broad skull in both hands.

'The feeling's mutual.'

'That doesn't make any bloody sense.'

'Shut up.'

By then, we were both trying and failing to hold back smiles.

'Some fucking lawyer you are.'

I remembered the first time I climbed on the back of his motorbike and clung to him when he leaned so heavily into the turns that I was sure our knees would graze asphalt. I remembered relaxing when he relaxed, hand on my thigh, as we leisurely wound up the dark outback roads. He told me to look up, which I did, and my breath caught in my throat. The stars overwhelmed the sky.

There was a heavy pang of regret as he climbed into his ute and chugged out of my driveway. And then I remembered Scar.

* * *

We took a week and a half off work, piled two suitcases into the trunk, Duke into the backseat and took off north with absolutely no plan. 

We were driven only by the sense that we were doing something illicit. Running away. There was a hint of a prequel too where she issued a challenge in the way only a woman can. Like she wanted to test me, see what I was made of, how far I’d go.

I took a moment to think about the future. It was like saying a prayer. And then I held it out the window and let go and it was lost in a burst of inertia, whirling backwards in our wake.

It won’t last, we both know that. Things never last. Until the one that does, I suppose. But, like with Chris, there won’t be any regrets.

Just the memory of a conversation about crockery and woks. And laughter like bells.

My favourite shot in the album so far.


End file.
